


An Enchanted Evening

by grapehyasynth



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: High school teachers AU, M/M, No magic despite the title, POV David Rose, That's just a prom theme, Unless you include the magic of love, colleagues to friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-01-24 00:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21329419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapehyasynth/pseuds/grapehyasynth
Summary: Patrick interrupts Stevie. “Why don’t I go with you, David?”“I’m sorry, what?” Stevie and David say together.Patrick shrugs, the rise of his cheeks looking a bit pink but his gaze steady. “If I went too, helped chaperone, it’d be like you had a partner, and you’d be less of a...an easy target, if you will. And you could talk with me instead of focusing on how miserable you were the whole time.”It sounds logical and reasonable and not at all like the mockery he’s used to. David clears his throat. “Bold of you to assume I’d rather spend time with you than with a bunch of judgy adolescents.”
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 62
Kudos: 309





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably a blend of Canada and America; just let it happen. This has also grown far beyond what I meant it to be lol.

“ _ Ste _ vie,” David growls, because otherwise he’d be whining, and that’s not a good look for him, “we had a fucking  _ agreement _ , and if you’re not going to uphold your end by protecting me from this  _ malarky _ then you can be fucking sure that  _ I _ won’t bring my  _ considerable _ influence with the parent committee to bear when they’re debating annual bonuses- Oh hi,” he stutters, halting in his tirade as he realizes Stevie isn’t alone in her office. He props the hand holding the event assignments on his hip and tilts his chin up, hoping they’re correctly reading  _ nonchalant and disinterested  _ from his expression. “Am I interrupting something?” 

Stevie smiles what David calls her “business-like f-you” smirk and gestures at the man sitting across from her. “Mr. Brewer - Patrick- was just asking how he could get more involved at the school.”

“Well, isn’t that fun for you.” David has no idea how Patrick can convey a smile while also looking so totally neutral. They’ve met a few times since Patrick started teaching... wood shop, or maybe it was lacrosse? And every time he’s seen him, Patrick has looked like this, nearly expressionless but also somehow  _ amused _ . He was probably voted  _ most amiable _ in his graduating class. 

“Are you allowed to use that kind of language in a school?” Patrick asks, twisting to look at Stevie. “Shouldn’t he get demerits or something?” 

“ _ Oh- _ kay,” David says quickly, “it was  _ two  _ f-bombs, and there aren’t any kids-”

“I was more bothered by  _ ‘malarky’ _ .” Patrick’s barely-there eyebrows have risen, but otherwise his face looks the same as it did a minute before, and a minute before that. 

David juts his jaw out, trying to decide if it’s too soon in Patrick’s employment to chew him out. 

Stevie’s grinning like she’s just won a radio contest or something - David should know, he’s seen that happen to her. “Was there something you needed, David?” she asks in her faux-helpful business voice. 

“If Patrick doesn’t mind-” 

“Oh, go right ahead,” Patrick says, the tiny quirk of the corner of his mouth indicating that he  _ definitely _ understands that David wants him to leave the room and he  _ definitely  _ has no intention of doing so. 

“Fine,” David exhales loftily. “The extra duty assignments came out, and I was  _ expecting _ to see myself down for the book fair, but  _ instead _ I’ve somehow ended up with  _ prom _ , which - Stevie, we had an  _ agreement _ -” 

“The assignments are randomized, David, I can’t play favorites!” Stevie protests.

He narrows his eyes at her. She might be telling the truth, or she might just be protecting her image in front of the new teacher, though David’s already screwed the pooch on that one by blustering in here talking about their mutual back-scratching set-up. 

But you said-” 

“I was misinformed, when I had that discussion with you,” Stevie says delicately. 

Patrick turns his head long enough for David to mouth  _ I’m gonna kill you- _

“Why’s prom so bad?” Patrick asks, twisting to look at Stevie and then back at David. He looks so earnest and David wonders if he looks that earnest even when he lies. “Wouldn’t it be great to see all your students celebrating right before graduation? A big party as they prepare to go off into the world? A last hurrah, and all that?”

David scowls. “You _ would _ say that, you probably  _ enjoyed _ high school.”

Patrick laughs, an annoyingly pleasant sound, and he shifts to sling his arm over the back of his chair. It looks like his whole body has opened up with the laugh, and  _ oh no _ , he thinks they’re  _ pals  _ now or something. “What does  _ that  _ mean?” 

“I don’t - I don’t have time to explain,” David sighs, fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Stevie-” 

“Yeah, David, what’s so bad about prom?” Stevie echoes.

“Is this how this is gonna go?” David demands, gesturing between her and Patrick. “This - this - imbalanced social dynamic? This is the new normal?” They both continue to just look at him, a pair of faux-innocent shit-eating grins, so he closes his eyes and waves at the air like it’ll help him gather his thoughts. “If you  _ must _ know, the idea of being trapped with that many teenagers, likely inebriated and horny and feeling  _ far  _ too self- confident considering their persistently questionable skin-care choices, brings up a lot of bad memories for me. And a ... fight or flight reflex. And a nauseous expectation of imminent humiliation.” 

Patrick whistles quietly. “You really  _ did  _ have a terrible time in high school.” 

“How are you a _high school_ _teacher_ if teenagers scare you that much?” Stevie prods.

“The classroom is a  _ controlled environment _ ,” he says shrilly; he’s explained this enough times to Alexis and it’s frankly  _ rude _ that people don’t just leave well enough alone. “I have a clear role and there are  _ rules _ and  _ schedules _ and also art supplies, all of which help divert the students’ more toxic tendencies.” 

“I can ask Mrs. DeLuca, David, but I just don’t know-”

Patrick interrupts Stevie. “Why don’t I go with you, David?” 

“I’m sorry, what?” Stevie and David say together. 

Patrick shrugs, the rise of his cheeks looking a bit pink but his gaze steady. “If I went too, helped chaperone, it’d be like you had a partner, and you’d be less of a...an easy target, if you will. And you could talk with me instead of focusing on how miserable you were the whole time.” 

It sounds logical and reasonable and not at all like the mockery he’s used to. David clears his throat. “Bold of you to assume I’d rather spend time with  _ you _ than with a bunch of judgy adolescents.” 

Patrick laughs, because of course he does. “I wouldn’t want to push you into anything you don’t want. But I’ve heard it can be a helpful strategy for people with anxiety to do things with a buddy.” 

Behind Patrick, Stevie gestures with both hands, as if to say  _ What a generous offer! You’d be an idiot not to accept! _

David’s skin is feeling a bit tender, like he’s too exposed, like something’s rubbing him raw. “First of all, ‘buddy’ is a stretch, and who said I have anxiety?” 

Patrick’s elbow slips off the back of the chair and his mouth rounds into a distressed circle - the first time David’s seen him look less than amused. “Oh, no, David, I just meant - it’s a strategy for people with anxiety but it - it could be helpful for anyone - I don’t know what you - what your- I didn’t mean to assume-”

As fun as it should be to watch Patrick fumble, David finds it settles heavily and guiltily behind his collarbone. He waves his hands quickly. “I’m kidding, Patrick.  _ Obviously _ I have anxiety. And, like, ten other things.” 

“Right.” Patrick’s smile is back, but it’s small and soft and makes David wish Stevie weren’t looking at him right now. “Sorry.” 

“So does that mean you want Patrick to chaperone prom with you?” Stevie pipes up, oh-so-helpfully. 

David presses his lips together and ignores her, focusing instead on Patrick. “You don’t have to do that.” 

“No, I - I’d like to,” Patrick assures him, and unlike Stevie, unlike most people David has known, he sounds like he means it, and David believes him. 

David nods slowly. “Okay then. Um...thanks for ...signing up to chaperone hell with me, I guess.” 

“Anytime, man,” Patrick smiles, and he actually stands and shakes David’s hand like this has all been a respectable business transaction, rather than an embarrassing exploration of David’s neuroses in Stevie’s seedy office. “I have to run to the FBLA meeting, I’ll see you two around!” 

He pats David on the shoulder and strides out with all the cool of a person whose self-confidence is very much not predicated on their haircut or jeans. 

“Did he just  _ wink _ ?” Stevie asks, staring at the door Patrick has closed behind him. 

“I think so,” David says with a shudder and takes Patrick’s vacated chair. “Only in rural Ontario would you find someone like  _ that _ .” 

“Hey,  _ I’m _ from rural Ontario,” Stevie reminds him. 

“Yes, and I’m still trying to figure out where they went wrong with you,” he shoots back. “You were clearly meant to be popped out in, like, Alberta, or Wyoming.” 

“Fuck you,” Stevie mutters affectionately. 

“I just feel bad for him, you know,” David continues, waving at the door. “We’ve met like five times and he hasn’t gotten the clue.” 

“Maybe he got the clue and ignored it.” 

David hums in agreement. “I worry for his sanity, or his sense of self-preservation, because he keeps trying to be friends with me even as I keep being as much of an ass to him as I can.” 

“Patrick’s a grown-up,” Stevie shrugs. 

“What does that make  _ us _ ?” 

“Adults, maybe, but definitely not grown-ups.” 

David can’t argue with that, so he studies one of Stevie’s motivational posters which features a sunrise and the emblazoned inscription,  _ POSSIBILITY: Every dawn brings a new day for you to shine, or to flame out in abject humiliation.  _ “Still, don’t you think it’s masochistic or something?” 

Stevie’s gone back to whatever she’d been working on before first Patrick and then David interrupted; they’ve been friends long enough that she can do her half of this conversation with David with only a tenth of her attention devoted to it. “You’re not as mean as you think, David. Obnoxious, yes. An acquired taste, certainly. But not mean. And Patrick can take it.” 

“But why?!?” Friendships are far too much work and far too much risk; Stevie knows this, knows they’ve only stayed friends because they’re similar and an appropriate balance of co-dependent and isolationist. “I model my self-loathing so that others know how to hate me. Disregarding that is just...disrespectful.” 

“Maybe Patrick is a better teacher than a student,” Stevie suggests. 

David flares a look at her. “Don’t play with my fantasies, Stevie.” 

She chooses now, of course, to look up, to pin him with a look that threatens zero tolerance for his shit. “So you fantasize about Patrick?” 

“ _ No _ ,” he scoffs, laughing at the very thought - you can’t call noticing a colleague’s forearms and smile and the little chipper way he walks into the staff room in the morning  _ fantasizing _ . And even if he’s wondered how strong Patrick’s thick thighs actually are, that’s not  _ fantasizing  _ either. It’s scientific curiosity. “I mean I guess he’s objectively cute, in like a Wall Street lumberjack kind of way, but no.” David’s clear enough on how things work, how people see  _ him _ , to cut those thoughts off before they reach the fantasy stage. 

“Yeah, I guess he’s not your type,” Stevie muses. 

“The fuck does  _ that _ mean?” David demands. 

“He’s nice, and stable, and engages in active communication. Your last three flings were the complete inverse of that.” 

“ _ O _ kay, thanks so much,” David snaps, finally standing to go. “This has been really helpful. I came in saddled with  _ one _ nightmarish responsibility, and I’m leaving with one nightmarish responsibility  _ and  _ a  _ buddy _ . A  _ buddy _ , Stevie.” 

“He said he thinks you’re funny,” Stevie says to the forms she’s filling out. 

“He - what?” David manages, tripping over the chair as he turns back to her. “That’s not - that doesn’t sound like a thing he would say.” 

“At first I thought I’d misheard and he’d said  _ funky _ , but no.” 

David narrows his eyes at her, but her stoic gaze gives nothing in return. “I don’t trust this. This - earnest, helpful friend thing you have going on today,” he declares, gesturing in a broad circle at her. “You’re scheming.” 

“You know me, David,” Stevie shrugs, all wide-eyed innocence. “I can’t fake sincerity.” 

“I don’t trust it,” David repeats as he backs out of the room, glaring at her until the door snaps shut. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dance!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this grew far beyond what I'd intended it to be. Hope it still hangs together somewhat. 
> 
> TW: discussion of transphobia/other bigotry. Please let me know if I should add any other warnings.

David spins the rearview mirror fully around so he won’t be tempted to check his reflection again. He’s sure he’s bitten his lips to a dry pink mess, but the longer he sits in his car, second- and triple-guessing himself, the more difficult it feels to make himself go inside. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and the key in the ignition is so near, and he could just go home... He’d been late when he’d first arrived, well past the time when faculty were supposed to be there to get their duty assignments for the night. Now students are arriving, have been arriving for twenty minutes, and the mental image of having to enter the prom venue amongst them is abjectly humiliating. 

He’s already here, though, is the thing that keeps tripping him up; that and the fact that he’s dressed up, and he should do this for his gorgeous tuxedo, if nothing else. And Patrick is waiting inside. _ He said he thinks you’re funny _ . David drops his head to the steering wheel with a groan. He’d sold it to Stevie and Patrick like prom itself is a daunting prospect for him, and it is, but it’s not unique in that; he has to work himself up like this for _ most _ things. Less than he used to, but still more than he’d like. 

Wishing he’d smoked some pot before coming and knowing that would be wildly unprofessional, he digs his phone out of his pocket and thumbs to Patrick’s number. Stevie had refused to give it to him, presuming - not without reason - that he’d just use it to bail on the event, but he’d easily gotten it through the general staff contact list. “Fuck fuck fuck,” he mutters, and then clicks the little phone icon. 

“Hello,” comes Patrick’s stupidly patient voice, his tone steady even with the throbbing party music behind him. 

“_ Hi _ David, it’s Patrick. Um - oh god. That’s not - it’s David. You’re Patrick. You know that. Um. Just wanted to check that you’ve actually shown up to this thing. Before I fling myself onto the stakes of misery for the next few hours.” 

He can’t hear Patrick laughing at him, but he’s sure he is. “Yes, David, I’ve been here for forty-five minutes.” 

“Right. Um. Well, I had a minor, um, emergency, my neighbor was in a state, and then the elevator - anyway, I’m here now, and I’ll be in in a sec.” He hangs up before Patrick can respond, wincing at the phone and his own use of the word _ sec _. He’s out of the car before he realizes he never established a way to actually find Patrick inside the venue, and he thinks about calling back, but his goal for the evening is to dissuade Patrick from the ill-advised, ill-fated venture of befriending David, and calling back would suggest attachment, and also be really fucking embarrassing. 

So he crosses the parking lot as quickly as he can, ignoring the swarming students, ignoring the niggling headache forming at the top of his spine. Maybe he can fake an illness. Maybe there’ll be those little profiteroles and he can eat enough to _ actually _ get sick. 

At the top of the faux-marble steps, Patrick is waiting just outside the open front doors, back-lit by the foyer’s chandelier, hands in the pockets of his just-too-big suit pants. David stumbles a little in his surprise and covers it by touching the floral decoration by the door. “This is all _ far _ more tasteful than I expected,” he lies. “You didn’t, um, you didn’t have to come meet me here.” 

“Well, I wasn’t sure your name was on the guest list, but I knew I could get you past the bouncer,” Patrick smiles. 

“Ah. Thank you, then, I guess. Um, you look very nice,” he says, in what he thinks is a breezy, collegial tone, giving Patrick a casual once-over. 

Patrick’s cheeks pinken, which somehow makes his eyelashes stand out more. “Thank you, David. It’s a rental.”

“_ Uhggghh _.” David tilts his face to the sky. “Did you have to ruin it for me?” 

“Well, I _ do _own a tux, for all the big nights out on the town we get here - the casino nights, the galas, you know-” 

“Yes, of course,” David nods, pressing his lips together, because what Stevie has failed to mention is that _ Patrick _is funny. 

“But I thought I’d give that one a night off and really just live it up in this one, really feel all the other bodies that’ve sweated in it--” 

“I know you think you’re joking,” David cuts him off, “but _ no _ amount of dry cleaning could _ ever _ convince me to share clothes with a stranger.” 

“Right, right," Patrick nods, deadpan, as if David hasn't just sounded even more of an elitist asshole than usual. "Uh - shall we?" 

David tries to set a decent distance between them as they cross the foyer, enter the dark ballroom, and wend their way through the chattering, dancing, overly-energetic students, but Patrick keeps glancing back to see that he’s there. _ Don’t seem too eager _ , he thinks, a mantra. _ Seem distracted. Seem disinterested. Be a bit of a dick _ . _ Save him the trouble and yourself the anguish _. 

Patrick leads him to the far corner of the room, an open space beyond the dance floor. They’re supposed to do laps of the room throughout the evening, interspersed with surveillance of the adjoining hallways and bathrooms, according to Mrs. Parker’s instructions, which David missed and which Patrick now recounts. 

“Okay, no offense to Mrs. Parker, but I’m gonna spend the whole night right here,” David declares, creating a little force-field with a swing of his hands. At Patrick’s look, he says defensively, “Work smart, not hard.” 

“_ Wow _ , Canada’s youth are in _ such _good hands.” 

They lapse into silence, and David assumes this is the part where Patrick recognizes that David’s a bit of a nightmare and detaches himself - silence precedes a lame excuse to walk away which precedes never speaking to each other again - but Patrick crosses his ankles and leans back against the wall next to him. 

When David chances a glance, Patrick is watching the revelers with a fond, almost fatherly smile. David can’t help himself - he snorts. 

Patrick’s jaw clenches on a smile. “_ What _, David?” 

“You’ve been here for, like, a week. You can’t possibly care about these kids already. I’ve been here for years and I have to remind myself they’re ‘bright young minds’ and not just nasty germ factories.” 

Patrick shifts so his shoulder is against the wall, turning the full, amused depths of his gaze on David. “It’s been five weeks, actually. And it’s more the theory of it - knowing where they are in their lives, what a pivotal time this is.” 

“Again, spoken like someone who enjoyed high school,” David says with distaste. 

“It’s made me feel good about my decision to go back to teaching, though,” Patrick continues. “Even if it’s just temporary for now. I hope they take me on again next year. I just started working with the drama club, giving technical input for their spring musical, and I think we could do so much if I had the chance to work with them year-round.” He shakes his head ruefully. 

Patrick must find it so easy to make friends and start relationships, David thinks, with the easy way he lets himself spill out into the open. It helps that he doesn’t have anything messy or unpleasant that might come spilling out as well. “I’m sorry, what qualifications do _ you _ have for giving _ technical input _ on a musical?” he demands. 

“Well, I’m only a double threat,” Patrick shrugs, “but I’ve been known to tackle some theater now and then.” 

“Are we talking, like, a regional production of _ Annie _, or...?” 

Patrick grins at him. “Yeah. Something like that.” 

“Okay, Daddy Warbucks,” David teases, _ instantly _ regretting calling his colleague _ daddy._

“Mr. Chen is a great director, but I’ve been working with some of the seniors in the advanced music theory classes to create new arrangements of some of the songs, and it’s really bringing a unique touch to the show.” 

David nods, watching the giant group selfie happening by the DJ’s station, then frowns. “Weren’t you in Stevie’s office looking for ways to get involved? When you’re already, like, neck-deep in school pride?” 

Patrick shrugs again, his go-to response to David’s backhanded compliments - it’s not humble, really, but nor is it flaunting. A quiet confidence. “I’m a take-charge guy.” 

In a different context, like at a bar or even on a first date, David would call him out on how sexual that sounds. As it is, he goes back to pretending to scan the crowd of students for flasks or other ‘illicit materials’ and scrounging for anything to say. 

Somehow, he settles on, “I, meanwhile, see these vape-obsessed little cretins and think about how sad it is that so many of them probably think they’re going to have a transformative sexual experience tonight.” He pretends to gag, both at the actual thought and at himself for fucking saying that to Patrick, the _ fuck _. 

“Did you get lucky at prom, David?” 

David snorts, scoffs, smooths one eyebrow. “God no, I didn’t go to prom.” 

“David!” Patrick uncrosses his arms and steps in front of him, face open and delighted and oh _ fuck _ this is _ not _ the reaction he was going for. “This is your first prom! I wish I’d known! I should’ve gotten you a boutonniere, or a limo, or _ something _-” 

“Okay, you’ve already done _ more _than enough!” 

Patrick grins, crossing his arms. “Is that your roundabout way of thanking me for keeping you company tonight?” 

“_ No _ .” David props one hand on his hip, then lets it fall, not really sure what he normally does with his limbs. “ _ Definitely _ not.” 

“Uh huh,” Patrick smirks, eyes glowing, knowing, as he settles back against the wall. 

“You don’t have to hang so close, you know,” he says, because he’s actually starting to enjoy himself and that’s not the point here. “I almost feel like you’re chaperoning _ me _.” 

“Maybe I am.” 

“Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past my therapist to do something like that.” 

“Oh yeah, Lorena and I are close.” 

David almost chokes on his own tongue. “How _ the fuck _ do you know her name?” 

Patrick’s face tilts up towards his, all innocence. “I listen.” 

David’s weak, traitorous spine gets all warm and electric at that, a flush flaming up his neck, and he has to look away. 

“Also,” Patrick continues, “you talk about her a _ lot _.” 

“Alright, that’s enough from you,” David grumbles, and he considers nudging Patrick, pushing him a bit off-balance, trying to make him laugh, but that’s decidedly too friendly. 

“I really can give you some space,” Patrick says, so maybe his tolerance for David really is running out. “If you’d rather be alone.” 

“That’s--” David tucks his chin into his raised shoulder, closing his eyes and meaning to shake his head but ending up with a funny wobble that really doesn’t signify anything. “It makes no difference to me, really. Whatever you want.” 

“Okay,” Patrick says, and he pushes off of the wall and claps David on the shoulder. “I’ll go do a lap, then.” 

He turns back a few yards away to give David an attempt at a wink, and _ honestly _ , David has no _ fucking _ clue what this guy’s deal is. 

He immediately texts Stevie, because there’s no way in hell he’s going to stand here alone like some pervert. 

**Hey, we’re officially no longer friends, just thought i’d let you know xo**

_ Get back to work, Rose. You’re on the clock_

**As if these kids have ever gotten up to anything more nefarious than cow-tipping**

_ I should never have told you about that _

She stops answering, so he scrolls through Fendi’s online boutique wistfully, wondering if he should break his _ no clothes worn by strangers _ rule and look for used items on Ebay but also doubting that anyone within a 200-kilometer radius would know the difference between Fendi and Fenty. 

Then he gets a text from Alexis: _ Davvvviiiiiiddd!! <3 <3 <3 Ted and I are gonna adopt one of these adoooorrrable munchkins!! Which one is your fave?? _

Attached are about fifty pictures of dogs. 

**Glad you narrowed it down, then**, he shoots back, but he starts to scroll through them, keeping a mental tally of ones that stand out. 

“I can’t tell if that expression is disgust or concentration,” Patrick’s voice interrupts his careful perusal, and he glances up to find him standing quite close with two plastic cups of something red. “Either way, good job on the chaperoning.” 

“It’s my sister,” David says by way of an explanation, accepting one of the cups and curling his mouth in distaste at the sickly-sweet smell of a generic punch. “We shared a room for, like, four years and now she’s obsessed with me.” 

If Patrick hears the affection in David’s voice, he doesn’t call him on it. “This was when you were little?” 

“Ah - no. This was up until, like, two years ago?” 

He squints over at Patrick, whose face betrays no judgment or scorn. “Really?” Patrick asks, in a measured voice. 

“Yeah, I, uh, lived with my parents and my sister in these two tiny motel rooms for a while? We kind of went through a weird time - a hard time - a weird, hard time, and ended up there. It was the first time I’d ever slept in a twin bed.” 

“That must have been kind of nice, to have your family so close.” 

Patrick’s face is doing something David hadn’t expected - he looks conflicted, distracted. David finds himself talking, wanting to talk Patrick’s face out of that expression. 

“Oh _ god _ no. I mean, not at first, anyway. We almost killed each other. I had a panic attack and everything. But I guess now I do, um, sometimes miss them? Which is unexpected. We still see each other a lot more than we used to. My sister still lives in that town with her husband, and my parents are in Toronto, so we see each other regularly.” 

Patrick is watching the dancing students, but it’s obvious he’s not really seeing them. “My relationship with my parents went kind of the opposite way. I was very close to them growing up, it was honestly great, but then we, uh, we went through a bit of a rough patch?” 

David’s overcome with an impulse to put a steadying hand on Patrick’s shoulder. He fiddles with a button on his suit jacket instead. “What, um, what happened? If it’s okay for me to ask.” 

Patrick blinks, and looks down at the floor, then up at David. “I - I realized some stuff about myself, and I wasn’t really prepared for it and didn’t know how to talk to them about it. So I ended up shutting them out and hurting them and myself. But we’re doing a lot better now.” 

Fighting against the strange heaviness in his body, David asks gently, “And are _ you _? Doing better now? With the...stuff about yourself?” 

Patrick’s eyes catch on David’s nervous fingers, and he exhales visibly. When he looks up, his small smile is somehow radiant. “I am, David. Thank you for asking.” 

“Yeah, I mean--” David clears his throat. His face feels suddenly hot, the air very thick. “It’s - you don’t have to-” 

“I think I’ll make another round,” Patrick interrupts him, sparing them both. “Can you handle this corner?” 

“I’m sure I’ll survive,” David snarks back, and that earns him a full-mouth laugh from Patrick, and since when did Patrick’s laughter feel like something to be _ earned _, to be tracked in a little celebratory corner of his mind? 

He puts his hand in his pocket to withdraw his phone again, but he’s watching Patrick and thinking about what a straight-edge guy he is, following Mrs. Parker’s directions for chaperoning when no one else cares. On anyone else, even in David himself, that behavior would have suggested to David a kiss-ass attitude or a fear of being less than perfect, but with Patrick it’s...something fuller. Commitment, maybe. Small-town follow-through. Integrity. 

Patrick circles the dance floor, bobbing his head to the inane bass and provoking a cheer from some of the students he passes. He greets some of the other chaperones and they chat amiably, looking like they belong on the sidelines of a youth soccer game. There’s something minutely different about the way Patrick holds himself around the others - just a touch more guarded, a bit more squared-off. But David’s probably imagining things. 

He looks good, David has to admit, under the flashing lights, his face and shirt changing from red to green to blue and back again. Even his stupid, rented, just-too-big suit looks good, though he wishes Patrick had worn a tie. Not that it’s any of his business. 

Patrick glances up, glances his way, and smiles softly, his whole face wrapped in it. David hadn’t realized he’d been staring and he looks away quickly, pulling out his phone and nearly dropping it in his haste. He stares blankly at one of the puppies Alexis had sent and tries not to panic. 

He tries not to panic, because in that moment when Patrick had looked at him from across the dance floor, David had felt something shift in his understanding of reality. He’s never had it happen to him before, hadn’t really believed it happened to anyone. He just felt, with immense clarity, a certainty in his gut and his chest and his throat, that Patrick was different than he’d been a second before. That _ David _ was different. The room had faded out a bit, time had slowed, it had been just them, all of that ridiculous fairy tale crap, except it had _ happened _. The startling, disturbing, distracting, terrifying thought had passed through David’s head that Patrick was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. 

_ It’s okay if I’m attracted to him, it would even be okay to hook up with him _ , he tells himself, forcing himself not to pace or tug on his hair. _ He’s just a temporary fill-in while Merritt’s on parental leave, it’s almost summer- _ But it’s also monumentally _ not _ okay, because Patrick is clearly a wonderful, generous person and David has absolutely nothing to offer. 

Also, who goes from hating someone to having a crush on them all of a sudden, in one short, completely sober evening? 

_ Maybe it’s not that sudden _ , a thought intrudes, in a tone not unlike Stevie’s. _ Maybe you just haven’t been paying attention _. 

Honestly, _ fuck _ prom and all its unrealistic expectations for magical, life-altering experiences. 

Patrick has nearly completed a full loop by this time, so David isn’t sure whether to feel annoyed or relieved when some of his first-block seniors detach themselves from the dancing crowd and swarm him, begging for a photo. Patrick swoops in, taking all six of their phones and coordinating such an extensive photoshoot that David is _ sure _ he’s drawing this out for David’s discomfort. David is relieved to find he can find Patrick attractive and still find him really fucking annoying. 

After the tenth admonition to _ “Smile, David! _”, the students hug him and dash back to their friends. 

“Here, I got one on my phone too,” Patrick says, “I’ll send it to you. It’s pretty cute.” 

“They’re probably all going to try to add me on Instagram the day after graduation,” David sighs. 

“So that would about double your followers, wouldn’t it?” 

“You know, you and my sister Alexis would get along _ great _.” 

“Oh, I also got you this.” 

Suddenly Patrick is in his space, in the little force field David had drawn for himself, and his hands are on David’s $4000 French tuxedo, and he’s pinning a little sprig of fake flowers from the party decorations onto his lapel. David stops breathing for a full twenty seconds. 

“Happy prom, David,” Patrick murmurs, adjusting David’s collar before stepping back. 

David’s staring at him again, but he can’t stop; up close, all his features have been rearranged with David’s revelation, all the tiny bits of him looking new and arresting. 

“Do I have something on my face?” Patrick asks, scrubbing at his cheek. 

_ Fuck _ \- “Um, I don’t - you have _ many _ things on your face, Patrick - a nose, eyebrows - well, kind of-”

“C’mon, David, you were staring at me like you’d never seen me before.” 

“I wasn’t _ staring _,” David flat-out fibs, “I just...got lost in thought.” 

“What were you thinking about?” 

_ The angle of your jaw, the exact tint of your eyes, the way the corners of your mouth press into your cheeks when you smile- _“Goodness, you’re a nudge,” David says instead. 

Patrick chuckles and pushes his hands into his pockets, taking up his now-familiar spot at David’s side. “Sorry. I’ll stop.” 

David doesn’t want him to stop. He’s not sure anyone’s ever asked what he was thinking and meant it. He’s not sure anyone’s ever asked, period. Or maybe they have, and it’s just never felt like this. But he can’t tell Patrick the truth about everything that’s happened in David’s head in the last ten minutes, it’s too soon, it’s too much, so he settles for something that’s not a lie and is less embarrassing than the truth. Even if it does make him feel a little naked. 

“I was thinking,” he lets out reluctantly, “that I thought, before tonight, that I hated you, but I think I just hated the idea that you would get to know me and hate me like everyone else does.” 

Patrick’s expression is new - not amused, not confused - serious and focused. Resolute. “No one hates you.” 

“That’s cute, but you’re new here.” 

“David, I mean it,” Patrick persists, and the intensity of his voice and gaze make David feel raked over and exposed. “Your students are crazy about you. I heard, like, twenty of them trying to work up the courage to come over and take pictures with you - that group just now? Just the first. I heard the words _ amazing _ and _ really cool _thrown around.” 

“That’s just not true-” 

“And your colleagues know better than to say it to your face, but they all talk about what a valued presence you are in the school community.”

David is squirming. “Patrick-” 

“Take me, for example,” Patrick plows on, and David gets the sense this isn’t all spur-of-the-moment. “People are always trying to put me into boxes - the business box, the sports box, the drama box - and when they find the boxes don’t always cooperate, they don’t know which box to speak to me in and they speak to me differently because it defies their idea of what I should be. You’ve never done that to me.”

David winces, thinking of all the times he’s thought about Patrick as a finance bro or a jock. “I definitely put you in boxes, though.” 

“But _ I _ never _ felt _ that. You might’ve done that in your head, which is a completely normal human thing to do, but I-” Patrick shakes his head and rubs his hand over his mouth. “It always feels like you treat me the way you do because of who I am, _ all _ of who I am, not just a part of me, or not just an idea of me.” 

David imagines silence is not the reaction Patrick was hoping for, but he really has no idea how to respond, Jesus _ fucking _ Christ. He wonders if Stevie knows all this, if she and Patrick had talked about this and that’s why she was so unhelpful with his effort to push Patrick away. 

The tips of Patrick’s ears are a deep pink, but he continues quietly, “That makes me feel comfortable. Safe.” 

David rears his head back. “I make you feel _ safe?” _

Patrick chuckles, the taut moment eased, and when he looks up at David it’s with a more familiar expression. “Let’s put it this way. The first few times we met, you made me feel safe, and then you made me feel a lot of things I’m not really comfortable talking about in a roomful of our students.” 

David laughs, loud and startled and undignified. He’s blushing now too, and Patrick’s only sort of meeting his gaze, and now he actually does feel like a teenager with a crush at a high school dance. 

“Oh,” David finally manages. 

“Are you laughing at me?” Patrick demands, eyes flickering down to the smile David can’t fight down.

“No, I promise I’m not, it’s just that I’ve realized that you thought that what you’ve been doing tonight is _ flirting _ . Like, you’ve been trying to flirt with me, like, this _ whole time _.” 

Patrick groans and covers his face with both hands. “Yeah, thanks for noticing.” He rolls his shoulders a little, like he’s trying to dispel the nervous energy David can feel on him. His little smile is pleased and smug, but he’s also very clearly flustered in a way David’s not used to seeing from him. “I was thinking more along the lines of _ wooing _, actually.” 

“_ Wooing _ ,” David repeats incredulously. He has to hide the ridiculous way that single word fills him up, makes his fingertips tingle. “I’ve been _ wooed _ by Patrick Brewer.” 

“A heady experience, I know,” Patrick grins. 

“Mm! Indeed. So heady it almost went right _ over _ my head.” 

“This is the part where I’d normally ask you to dance, but I wouldn’t want to inflict that on you.” 

“Or the students,” David adds. “Poor things definitely aren’t ready for all this.” He waves generally between himself and Patrick, wondering if it’s too soon to suggest there’s a _ this _. 

“They’d lose their minds,” Patrick concurs. “But I guess we could always--” Very, very slowly, he begins to sway back and forth, just bumping David every time he leans to the right, his head swiveling in some pattern that is entirely not related to the song playing. 

“Oh god no, stop that,” David begs, grabbing Patrick’s arm, but he’s grinning, they’re both grinning, and this might be a terrible idea, to think he can fall for Patrick and not break himself in the process, but he feels fizzy and warm inside and he’s already too far gone. 

“_ Da _vid,” Mrs. Parker says at his elbow, and he has never felt murder in his blood before this moment. “I’m glad to see you’re enjoying yourselves. Could you nip to the bathrooms and just check that no one’s getting up to any hanky-panky over there?” 

Swallowing down a comment about most of the students being eighteen and therefore consenting adults, David tears himself away from Patrick’s frankly inappropriate gaze and squeezes through the crowd towards the bathrooms. His jaw is starting to hurt from smiling and he has a new reason for wishing this night would end quickly. 

He does a perfunctory walk-through of the men’s restroom, discovering nothing more reprehensible than the sanitary habits of adolescent boys. He’s not about to enter the women’s, and his pulse picks up at thinking about getting back to Patrick, but then he sees someone huddled in the shadows farther down the hallway. 

“Yazmeen?” David recognizes the student - he taught them in their first year at the school, but art wasn’t compulsory after that, so he’d lost track of them. He knows he should probably try harder to stay engaged with students after they leave his classroom, but he's never felt quite stable enough for that. "Are you okay, Yazmeen?"

They look up from where their head was resting against their knees, and David's gut twists at the mascara running down their cheeks. _ So much for the fairy tale of prom._

"Are you - what - um-" David remembers Jocelyn asking him to mentor one of her students a few years ago, and that had been a total disaster, but it had gotten him thinking about teaching, and he wonders if he can be a bit more helpful in this teenager's crisis. "Can I sit with you?"

Yazmeen nods and buries their face again. 

David stays silent, fiddling with the hem of his pants. He doesn't know what to say or do, doesn't know that he's the person most qualified for this, imagines Yazmeen would want almost anyone but their former art teacher here right now. But he sits, and he waits. 

After a few minutes, Yazmeen's sniffles quiet and their muffled voice says, "Elliot Butler told me I couldn't use the girls' room. He said I didn't qualify."

David takes a few steadying breaths, reminding himself, _ You legally and contractually cannot call a student an asshat. Children are a reflection of their parents and their society. When they go low, we go high, _until he can speak without his voice shaking with anger. "I'm sorry he said that to you. It's cruel, it's not true, and it's not any of his business. No one can make that call but you. Um..." He looks down at his hands. "I don't know if anything I'm about to say is helpful, and I can't speak to your life experience, and please feel free to tell me to shut up at any time."

He waits until Yazmeen looks up and nods before continuing. 

"I had my own Elliot Butlers growing up, and it took me a long time to recognize it, but it was always much more about them than about me. I don't - I don't know if that helps, right now, but it's definitely true. It's not on you to teach them anything or be patient with them. And for every one person who would treat you like crap, there are ten, twenty, a hundred who would fight for you."

Yazmeen looks doubtful.

"I'm serious. Lord knows I'm a giant cynic and have a hard time trusting people but people...people keep finding a way to prove me wrong." He thinks of Patrick, and Stevie, and Jocelyn, and his sister and his parents and even Wendy at the Blouse Barn. "Your people are out there. Some of them are probably here tonight, but some you might have to look for."

"Thanks, Mr. Rose," Yazmeen says quietly. "I just - I don't really want to go back out there."

"I get that," David reassures them. "I didn't want to come tonight and I'm a teacher!" He throws his hands up and Yazmeen laughs wetly: a small victory. "You can stay here or go to the foyer or call your parents or whatever you need to do. And hey, for the next month before graduation, if you need somewhere to eat lunch, or...a pass to get out of something, or whatever, you know where I am. Things don't magically get better after high school, but...for a lot of people, it sucks a little less."

"But the sports! The drama! The glory!" Yazmeen says, and he's thrilled to see they're smiling. 

"Let's save the drama for Mr. Chen's musicals."

Next thing he knows, Yazmeen has flung their arms around him in a quick hug. After a startled "oh!", he gingerly pats their back. 

Yazmeen withdraws at the sound of footsteps coming from the ballroom. David glances up to see Patrick, his face strangely unreadable, and another student, Sam.

"Hey lady," Sam exclaims, rushing over to pull Yazmeen to their feet. "We've been looking for you! Jack said you disappeared. Come dance with us."

Yazmeen practically glows. David presses his lips together, relieved and proud and grateful. 

Yazmeen glances at him, but he waves them away. "Go. Go! Have fun."

"Thanks Mr. Rose," Yazmeen says again, before dashing off with their friend. 

David stands, dusting off the seat of his pants. 

"Everything okay?" Patrick asks, eyes intense on David's. 

"I think so," David sighs, because he's not sure, and the world can be shitty, but he thinks for tonight Yazmeen will get a happy ending. 

"And is your tux okay?"

"What?" He glances down at himself but doesn't see anything amiss. 

"David." Patrick's face is doing a series of funny things that David can't parse. "You were sitting on the ground. In your tux. Which probably costs more than my rent for the year."

"I honestly didn't think about it," David admits. Patrick's eyes go big and dark and he hangs close to David as they make their way back to the party. 

The rest of the night passes quickly after that. There's no prom king and queen, thank goodness, but the student council make speeches. Patrick catches David tearing up and keeps reminding him of it every few minutes. Patrick insists they stay after to help the cleaning crew, because of course he does, and it oddly makes David's chest feel all warm again. He blames Twyla's influence. 

A little after midnight, he drives Patrick, who'd taken a cab, back to his apartment. Parked outside in the street, he runs his hands over the steering wheel, remembering how he'd death-gripped it just a few hours before. Now he's alone in the same car with a boy who likes him. 

"Well, against my best efforts, that was a mostly fun night," he says softly, turning to smile at Patrick. 

Patrick is watching David very seriously. “You’re a good person, David.” 

David shakes his head rapidly, feeling whiplashed. “Where the fuck did you get _ that _ idea?” 

“I didn’t hear all of what you said to Yazmeen, but I saw enough and heard enough to get the idea.” Patrick glances down at his hands, runs a thumb over the opposite palm. “I know you’ll disagree with this, but you have _ so much empathy _, David. You’re a much more natural and effective teacher than most of us will ever be.” 

David snorts, and Patrick tilts his head in a little _ I knew you’d react like that _. “Empathy? No. I don’t think so. I’m not known for, like, being competent with genuine human emotion.” 

Patrick smiles fondly and opens his mouth as if to press the point, but then his brow furrows and his mouth pinches shut as he looks down. When he lifts his head again, David’s heart clenches at the sight of a sheen of tears on Patrick’s eyelashes. 

“Um, I just, I know a thing or two about feeling alone, and out of place,” Patrick says, his voice strained. This time David doesn’t hold himself back - he reaches across the console and grips one of Patrick’s hands as tightly as he can. “I spent a lot of my life, including my own prom, feeling like something was...was wrong with me? But not knowing what, and just powering through because I didn’t have anyone to tell me it was okay to not want what other people wanted or to not be the way other people were.” Patrick sniffs and rubs the heel of his free hand into one eye, then turns a soft, earnest look on David. “I wish I’d known you in high school,” he whispers, like he’s afraid he’ll startle David away. “I think maybe I would’ve loved myself sooner.” 

David swallows against the thickness in his throat. “Well, it’s a good thing we _ didn’t _ know each other, unless you were into, like, candy ravers with asymmetrical haircuts and a lot of pacifier necklaces.” 

Patrick smiles a little, but it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. David squeezes his hand, lets him know he can keep talking if he wants. “I was happy, I really think I was, because my sexuality isn’t the only thing that defines me, so I feel like kind of a dick for rewriting my own youth like this, when I was fucking _ lucky _ to be as happy and as loved as I was, when people like Yazmeen are suffering so much more than I ever did, but.. Can I feel like I was happy but also have regrets, and wonder what if?” 

David expects the panic to set in. A grown man, a colleague, a person he’d intended to scare away, is having a gay crisis in his car. This is a lot of pressure - he’d wanted to be able to offer something to Patrick, but this is so much to ask of him, of _ David _ , clearly the least competent person Patrick could’ve chosen for this conversation. But just as with Yazmeen, he realizes he’s not panicking. He’s still glad to be in this car with Patrick, and it doesn’t feel like pressure. It feels like stepping into someone’s open arms or taking an offered hand. It feels like a hot weight in his throat, a tenderness. It’s not returning a favor to Patrick - it’s two people being there for each other in whatever way they can, _ wanting _ to be there. 

He scoots all the way over in his seat so his arm is pressed against Patrick’s. He repositions their clasped hands so they’re pressed wrist-to-wrist, fingers interlocked. With his other hand, he starts rubbing a soothing rhythm up and down Patrick’s arm. 

“You can feel however you feel,” he murmurs. “What you’re experiencing is uniquely yours. People can give you advice, and input, and stories from their own experiences, and I recommend therapy, but they can never tell you who you are or what to do with what you’re given. Okay?” 

Patrick nods, so David tentatively leans in to rest his chin on Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick tilts his head so his temple rests on David’s forehead. 

“If we _ had _ gone to the same high school,” he continues, and he feels Patrick chuckle, “we would’ve obviously run in wildly different crowds, but we would’ve met anyway. Maybe we’d sit next to each other in economics or health class or something, and you’d get to hear all my snarky commentary and you’d realize how witty and erudite I am-”

“Uh-huh,” Patrick smirks. 

“-And we’d flirt for months until you asked me to prom. You’d be nervous about it, because it’s a small town and you’re the director of the baseball squad or something, but everyone would be really happy for us. I’d try to tempt you into some dirty dancing but you’d be a total gentleman, and then we’d win prom king, jointly, and be showered with flower petals by our adoring peers.” 

Patrick has turned to look at him, his nose almost brushing David’s, and his eyes are still shining but it’s a different light now. 

“Afterwards,” David goes on, rubbing his thumb over the fabric of Patrick’s jacket, “you’d walk me to the door and kiss me on the front step until the maid came out.” 

“Would we do long-distance at university?” 

“We wouldn’t need to. I’d get in somewhere amazing, obviously, and you’d get to go on a sports scholarship, or at least that’s what you’d tell everyone because you don’t want to reveal you’re actually a genius just like me, and we’d snuggle on the quad and get ice cream in the dining hall and shit. We’d take the same classes so we could argue with each other and I’d come to all your performances-” 

“Games-”

“And paint my face with your number and kiss you after the game, in front of everyone.” 

Patrick looks much more like himself, fond and steady and amused, and David grins openly at him, proud that _ he _ did _ that _, made Patrick smile like that. 

“Thank you, David,” Patrick murmurs. 

David shrugs and rolls his eyes. “For what?” 

He starts to move away, but Patrick’s grip tightens on his hand. 

“I know there’s no maid waiting to interrupt us,” Patrick murmurs, “but could I still kiss you?” 

David pulls his lips between his teeth, an old habit to fight a smile he’s not sure he needs to hide anymore. “Mm. Mhm. Yes please.” 

They’re already close, so it takes only a small lean from each of them, Patrick’s hand gentle and steady on David’s cheek, David smiling against Patrick’s lips. It’s a soft press, completely innocent, but David’s whole body feels molten, and he’s about ready to unbuckle his seatbelt and climb over the console to get more of Patrick. 

He gasps, then, and pulls away. Patrick grumbles, his lips pursing against empty air before he opens his eyes to scowl at David, but something has clicked for David about the way Patrick looked at him in the hallway earlier. 

“Hold on,” he says, pressing a hand to Patrick’s chest to keep him from kissing him again, because kissing is the best but this is _ important _ , “were you _ turned on _ by my _ empathy _?!” 

“Not _ sexually _,” Patrick protests, prettily pink beneath the streetlights, and David can’t help it, he kisses him again, quickly, then releases him to let him finish. “Just, like, emotionally. Emotionally turned on.” 

David smirks, unconvinced. “Well. I suppose I can work with that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I have David think of Patrick as fatherly or dad-esque THREE TIMES in this fic and that's not an intentional kink I'm trying to write in for either of them, or for me, it just...happened? Though I feel like Dan kind of wrote that in himself when he had Patrick and Johnny side by side in The Barbecue. idek. 
> 
> A French tuxedo is apparently a sexual thing, at least according to urban dictionary. I left it in anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> No shade to Wyoming, Alberta, or rural Ontario.


End file.
